


Stealing Signs

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets his license and immediately comes up with a way to get Scott in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stealing Signs

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Daunt's comment underneath [this photoset](http://daunt.tumblr.com/post/38979344868/like-i-want-more-fanfic-with-stiles-coming-up), this story was supposed to be my story for Scott/Stiles week. However, I talked myself out of posting it twice so it's a little too late for that I think.

Scott's phone rings the very second he brings his bike to a skidding stop next to the mailbox outside the house he lives in with his mom. He actually has to  _think_ about whether or not he wants to answer.

It takes a second of juggling and some fast thinking, but Scott manages to grab his phone without losing his hold on the bag of Chinese take-out in his hand. A quick glance down at the display shows Stiles’ name. Scott rolls his eyes, torn between sighing about his best friend’s timing and eagerness to see what Stiles wants from him this time. Scott wedges the take-out bag between his hip and the handlebars of his old bike and then hits the green call button with his index finger.

Stiles starts talking the moment that the Scott picks up the call. He leaps past the greeting, barely saying hello before he runs off on a tangent that makes Scott cross his eyes just from hearing about it. Stiles goes on and on and on in Scott’s ear for no more than five minutes and then stops, voice cutting off in the middle of a sentence about street lines or something in that vein.

“Scott,” Stiles says in a tone of voice that seems too quiet all of a sudden, “You’re still there right?” Stiles pushes out a breath of air that sounds like a sigh and then goes back to speaking in that too-soft voice that isn’t at all like Stiles until is just is. “I’m coming to get you. If you don’t want to go do something that’ll probably get us both arrested, speak now or keep it to yourself later.”

Scott opens his mouth to say something but his mind draws a blank. It’s hard figuring out what things are red areas with Stiles when he’s upset. It’s even harder to gauge what would be the best thing to say or do when his best friend is so obviously hurting. So Scott doesn’t even try. Maybe later when they’re in the county lock up waiting for one or both of their parents to come and bail them out, Scott will try to have a heart to heart with his best and oldest friend.

For now, Scott has to do damage control or something like it. He hitches the phone up against his ear and looks down at his watch.

“I thought you didn’t have your license yet, dude.”

Stiles makes a snorting noise from his end of the phone.

“I’ve been texting you all day about my driving test,” he says in a put-out tone that makes Scott smile when he recognizes it. “I passed around nine in the morning and then my dad took me out to get a car.”

Scott perks up, seeing an opening in the conversation that he  _can’t_  miss out on.

“What kind of car,” he asks, “And can I eat in it without you yelling at me?” For the past few months, the only car that either one of them have had access to was Mr. Stilinski’s old pick-up truck. There’s not enough room to  _drive_ in much less try and eat. Scott makes a face as he thinks about that rusty old truck and its shaky suspension. “I’ll trade you my eggrolls.”

“Turn around, dude,” Stiles says, loud as usual in Scott’s ear. “I’m right behind you!”

“You are not,” Scott retorts as a smile tugs on the corners of his mouth, “I would have heard you driving up if you were here already.” Scott turns around once he’s finishing talking, looking on instinct for the Stilinski’s old pick up and the cloud of exhaust that normally follows it.

Scott misses the jeep twice. He sees it, dismisses it, and looks for a car that’s more suitable for Stiles’ personality and his habit of carrying way too many people around after school.

“Dude where  _are_ you?”

Stiles blows a raspberry right in Scott’s ear.

“I’m in the jeep, you dork,” he all but  _crows_  a second later. “Now get in the car, loser. We’re going for a drive.”

Stiles hangs up without giving Scott a chance to do more than blink in the direction of the gray jeep idling a few cars down from the McCall family mailbox.

“If we get arrested I’m going to pretend I don’t know you,” Scott announces as he trudges over the gravel driveway to where Stiles has his jeep parked on the curb. “It’s a weeknight and I  _know_  you’re not going to have us back by curfew.” Scott shoves his phone into his pocket and then tightens his fingers around his bag of shrimp lo mein. “And you know what? You don’t get any egg rolls until you tell me your plan.”

Stiles gives Scott a wide-eyed look of confusion and then sticks his tongue out.

“You’re no fun,” he says as he pulls away from the curb, “You’re supposed to make the driver want to take you around. You know something, Scott? I could leave you here.”

“But you won’t,” Scott says in response to Stiles as he opens one of the wax-paper packages of egg rolls in his bag and waves it in front of Stiles’ nose. “If you ditch me now, you’ll never get to tell me what your plans are for tonight.” Scott watches as Stiles’ fingers tighten up around the steering wheel and then release at the same time that Stiles sighs long and low.

“Okay, man,” Stiles breathes, “A couple dozen miles south, there’s this gated community with a street called McCall Way.”

“And?” Scott asks.

“And it’s practically  _law_  that once you find a street sign with your name on it, you have to steal it,” Stiles crows, thumping the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. “Don’t you watch MTV?”

Scott looks down at his still warm lo mein and then back up at Stiles.

“I hope you’re going to let me eat before you get me arrested,” he says with a wrinkle of his nose. “I haven’t eaten since practice. I’m starving.”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawls, “Because warming the bench with your butt is so hard right?”

It gives Scott the utmost pleasure to look at Stiles until his friend pales and his eyebrows wrinkle before announcing, “Hope you find a Burger King on our way there because now there’s no way you’re getting any of  _my_  food,” in the silence of the car.

Scott has to work around Stiles and work with him. It’s what best friends do for each other.

There’s nothing in the Best Friend Handbook about taking it when they’re a jerk for no reason.


End file.
